


Different This Time

by ohsinnerman



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsinnerman/pseuds/ohsinnerman
Summary: Ever since the moment Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier figured out how to string two words together (his first sentence had been “Hell no,” much to the chagrin of his parents), he’d pretty much never stopped. Even in his sleep.-Some events following the escape from Neibolt Street. (And potentially some 27 years down the line.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 9





	Different This Time

**Author's Note:**

> I just love these disaster boys. Not entirely sure where this is going, but I picture it jumping to the present at some point. Just finished the book, so I'm pulling a bit from that, but mostly movie-canon I think.
> 
> Un-beta'd, apologies for typos! Also, one or two unkind observations from Richie's POV on Sonia Kaspbrak's weight. No apologies for the swearing.

Ever since the moment Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier figured out how to string two words together (his first sentence had been “Hell no,” much to the chagrin of his parents), he’d pretty much never stopped. Even in his sleep.

He talked all the time, in part, to keep his mind busy, to keep himself from thinking too hard on exactly _why_ he was the way he was. Because while he did talk to make people laugh, to see if he could make them like him, he also then kept going and going and going to test them, to see if they would stick around. Fortunately, his parents appreciated his grating charm, albeit with a sort of exhausted love. However, few others did.

The Losers had stuck around though. Even when he’d prod at them, or cross a line, they’d just roll their eyes or fire back or occasionally warn him to quit it with a “Beep, beep, Richie,” but they never bailed on him. Even though Ben, Beverly, and Mike were newer to the group, they’d somehow instinctively understood that Richie didn’t mean any real harm; and that if you could put up with the stream of silliness, questionable accents, and cursing, that you’d end up with some good chucks and a very, very loyal friend.

Much in the way that Richie couldn’t seem to be able to put a fucking cork in it sometimes, he couldn’t seem to help dunking on Eddie the most. Maybe because Eddie always snapped back at him the hardest, and quickest, which delighted Richie; he loved it when Eds took him by surprise and Got Off A Good One. Eddie’s temper also made it extra rewarding for Richie when he did get a laugh out of him.

He never thought about the possibility that he pushed Eddie the hardest because he was most afraid that Eddie would get sick of him and bail. True, he loved Bill first and fiercely, like the older brother he’d never had, but Big Bill had always had that mythical, destined feel about him; it felt preordained that Bill would make it out of Derry one day, and they were lucky for the time they had with him.

But Richie was terrified that Eddie might leave him behind one day. That he’d look at himself in the mirror, with his neatly combed hair and white shirts and knee-high socks, and then look at Richie, _really_ look at him, with his grass-stained shorts and unruly curls and battered, often broken glasses, and then he’d believe what his mother was always saying to him. That Richie, and by extension the Losers, were dirty little monsters, that they’d make him sick or get him hurt, and he’d be better off without them, safe at home. With her.

It had never happened; even when Richie would mess up Eddie’s neat hair, or give him a wet willie, or fling some sewer trash at his feet with a stick. The worst that might happen was that Eddie would finally storm off, face red, throwing an “Eat shit!” or a “Fuck you, Trashmouth!” over his shoulder and Richie would be slightly subdued for the rest of the afternoon, trying to hide his regret.

But Eddie would still show up the next day, or the day after that, and Richie might wordlessly give him the last stick of gum in the pack, or let him read his new comic book before he’d even had a chance. And the previous day’s antics would fade easily away.

* * *

It feels different this time, as Richie watches Sonia Kaspbrak grasp her son by the nape of his neck and all but shove him into the front seat of their car ( _Jesus H. Christ, lady, you wanna break his other arm?_ he wants to shout, but luckily, for once, he can’t seem to make a sound). Eddie’s not even looking at them as Bill tries his best to explain to Mrs. K what’s happened, but she’s not having any of it. His cheeks are wet with angry, pained, embarrassed tears, and his chin, usually set in stubborn determination, is wobbling, even as he bites his lip to try and hide it.

Richie feels a hot spear of fury in his gut. At Mrs. K for being such an overbearing cow, at all the adults for not believing them, for not caring more about the helplessness of being a kid. At Bill for walking them into that shitshow, and at himself for going along with it. And then trying to fix it.

(So fucking _stupid_ , thinking he could set a broken arm. But he really had seen it done in a lot of movies, and afterwards it seemed like the person hurt a lot less, and he’d been desperate for Eddie to stop hurting. _Look at me,_ he’d told Eddie, like the sight of his ugly, Coke bottle glasses might distract him from the agony and terror. It hadn’t worked.)

“You’re all monsters. All of you,” Mrs. K spits out. “And Eddie is done with you, you hear? Done.” There it is. She marches around to the driver’s side of the car and wedges herself in behind the steering wheel. Eddie still hasn’t looked up at them, but at this point, Richie can’t really blame him. Mrs. K pulls into the road and points the car in the familiar direction of Dr. Handor’s office, and the rest of the Losers automatically follow for a few steps, drifting in the car’s wake, as if thrown off by a shift in balance, or gravity.

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak is really fucking pissed off.

This isn’t exactly a new state for him. It pisses him off that he and his friends get bullied all the time (although “bullying” seems like a pretty light term for assault and torture to him, but apparently, he doesn’t get to make those rules). It pisses him off when his mother won’t let him go to Water Country with everyone else during the summer, because she says it’s full of Legionnaire’s Disease and pedophiles (which for all he knows, she may have had a point, but he hates getting left behind).

It _beyond_ pisses him off when Richie refuses to call him by his normal fucking name, instead trilling loudly “Eds, my dove!” while fluttering around like a stupid Southern belle. Or when Richie puts him in a headlock. Or when Richie pinches his cheeks and calls him cute, which probably wouldn’t piss him off so much if it didn’t always make the tips of his ears feel weirdly hot. Really, when it came to Richie, there was a whole separate list, complete with sub-sections, bullet points, and a table of contents.

But right now, sitting in the passenger seat of the car, he’s reached an entirely new level of pissed off that he hadn’t even known existed. He and his mother are on their way home from Dr. Handor’s office, and the cast is already sweaty and itchy on his arm. The fracture aches constantly, but lances with pain every time his mother hits a pothole. She’s too distracted to notice the grimace on his face, still going on and on about those “dirty cretins” and how “she always knew this was going to happen one day, it’s what comes of running around with trash like that.” He’s still a little woozy from the pain medication as he thinks, _They’re not trash. Just one Trashmouth._

The meds don't dull the hatred he feels for her in that moment, which is a bit new. He’s resented her plenty, but after this? The way she had yelled at his friends, what she’d hissed at Beverly? How she’d coddled and wept over him so much at the clinic that the X-ray technician had to make her leave the room? She’d kept repeating “He’s just so _delicate_ , please be careful!” Like he hadn’t already survived a full-fledged rock war with the three biggest assholes in town, even if she didn’t know it.

Most of all, he hates her for threatening to keep him away from the Losers.

True, he is still plenty angry at Bill for asking them to go into that house (for asking for help? For wanting to find his brother? This anger would fade), and _definitely_ at Richie, both on principal and for being an absolutely astounding idiot who thought watching a lot of movies could replace as four years of medical school ( _Look at me, look at me,_ he’d said, his hands on either side of Eddie’s face. Despite the actions immediately following this, it had still been more soothing than anything his mother had done at the hospital).

But he’s realizing, more than ever, that they are the family he has. They support him, but don’t baby him (even with Richie’s jabs about his size, Eddie knows that he respects him, in that staunch way of adolescence). They never try to hold him back; instead, they just assume he’ll keep up, and if he can’t, they’ll wait for him without complaining. They’d never, ever try to lock him away from the world.

His mother finally pulls the car up in front of their house, and Eddie finds himself suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline, the pain medication, not to mention keeping his burning anger fueled, has finally taken its toll. His mother is continually fussing over him, asking him what he needs without even waiting for an answer. Her questions follow him upstairs as he manages to stumble into his room, close the door, and collapse on his bed. He doesn't even take off his shoes.

He falls asleep within seconds, and doesn’t wake again until it’s nighttime, to the sound of someone rapping on his bedroom window.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if it's true of kids in Maine, but growing up in Massachusetts, Water Country was the fucking place to be. So of course I Googled when it opened and it actually did exist in 1988. As far as I know, they've never had the problems Mrs. K agonizes over, but I did get lost there once and REALLY stressed my parents out.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always very, very much appreciated.


End file.
